Clumps of words I have saved in my notes app all unfinished probably forever.

I apologize in advance y’all these are a mess and probably wouldn’t have seen the light of day otherwise 

Untitled 1;

I like to think my prayers are heard by the birds. 

I like to think they listen, turn my pain into beautiful songs they chirp without shame. 

I like to think the roosters wake the world to my suffering. 

Because what is pain to feel if it always goes unrecognized? 

Maybe misery doesn’t necessarily love company as much as it hates isolation. 

My misery isn’t meek, its a lion. 

Roars when silenced and bites when tried to be kept at bay. 

Untitled 2; 

There isn’t a bird in the sky who hasn’t heard me scream to the heavens for you. 

Your absence an everlasting wound no bandage could close. 

As long as you’re gone I’ll always bleed. 

As long as your smile isn’t within sight. 

As long as your arms can’t hold me. 

My blood shall soak all thats beneath me. 

Every path I take shall be stained with red. 

Untitled 3; 

To be vain is one of the worst sins of all. 

To be vain is to be handicapped. 

It steals your ability to progress on the path to improvement. 

To be vain is to be stolen from. 

It steals your ability to truly know yourself. 

Your flaws play an important role in who you are, 

Blind yourself to that can only be a disservice. 

Maybe that is why you feel yourself compelled to harp on mistake made many moons ago. 

You musn’t forgive yourself for any wrongdoings because then that should mean you’re blinding yourself to your true nature. 

Untitled 4; 

I has befallen me, 

              Snow, a winter’s soft kiss decorates the ground in blankets beneath my feet. 

It has befallen me, 

              Sunshine, the worlds grin paints your skin illuminating you with its light. 

It has befallen me, 

               Your laugh, a glorious song in which no notes could capture

               There are no lyrics worth accompanying your beautiful melody. 

It has befallen me, 

                March’s swarm of pollen stings my eyes but paints your nose such a lovely shade of red I can’t bother to mind it. 

It has befallen me, 

               Autum’s warm pallet of brown and orange. 

Untitled 4; 

The words on my paper might as well be etched in my blood that is how much they are apart of me. 

Author: Sone’t Robinson

My name is Sone't Robinson and writing for me is an outlet. It's a way to be heard when I feel like my words have fallen on deaf ears. I write out of necessity as well as passion. I've used my pen to write my peace and paper has been the greatest listener I've ever met. I'd encourage even those who don't have a passion for writing or literature to do the same.

5 thoughts on “Clumps of words I have saved in my notes app all unfinished probably forever.”

  1. I think they all have something cool to work with. My favorite line is from untitled one; “Maybe misery doesn’t necessarily love company as much as it hates isolation.”

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